by John F. Carr
A Hostigi artillery volley boomed out, emptying saddles and knocking horses left and right like leaves tossed about in a stiff breeze.
The Harphaxi Captain-General, with his gilded armor, was on his horse in mid-stream when a rifle shot from above went clear through his helmet and out through the neck in a splatter of blood. He slumped over, and fell into the creek, joining hundreds of his fellow troopers. Before his body had time to settle, he was ridden into the bottom muck by another wave of cavalry. These were heavy lancers and they bulled their way across the dammed-up stream before the Hostigi could prepare another volley.
Hestophes raised his right hand and made a circle. In answer, his trumpeter blew the signal for the pikemen to pick up their pikes and retreat. Most hadn’t waited and had formed a crenulated porcupine against the Styphoni horse. The idea was for them to retreat to the pasture, where Duke Mnestros and his Agrysi cavalry waited to come to a clash of arms against the Styphoni horse.
The Hostigi retreat was steady and unbroken. High in the trees the snipers were still taking out solitary targets, while the pikemen kept the Harphaxi cavalry contained and saving the retreating Hostigi from an otherwise certain rout. A few of the dragoons who had dropped or lost their pikes were fighting with swords and pistols. Many of the hand-gunners had helped the artillerymen move the guns back and get them behind the pike wall before they were overrun.
They were hard pressed by the Styphoni cavalry who were all over the brook and onto the rear bank, like ants on a fallen honeycomb. When the pikemen reached the pasture, they moved quickly to the sides, between the trees and out of the way as quickly as possible. Still, a few laggards were ridden down when the Harphaxi sloshed into the clearing like water over a dam. Duke Mnestros waited until about half the enemy force had filled the pasture before he sounded the attack.
The Styphoni were met by a wave of Agrysi steel with a sound like that of a hundred anvils tumbling down a cliff. Both sides hammered each other, neither side giving up a pace without immediately trying to take it back. The forces were too intermingled for the musketeers and arquebusiers on either side to risk firing for fear of friendly casualties.
When both sides were thoroughly engaged, Hestophes ordered his reserve cavalry to charge. They burst out of the trees and hit the Styphoni on both flanks. The dragoons followed with their pikes, helping to drive the enemy back into the woods and back across the little steam. Hit from above by rifle fire, in front by the Agrysi horse and on the flanks by cavalry, pikemen and halberdiers, the Styphoni broke and went into a disordered retreat, scrambling over the creek to save themselves from an enemy that appeared to be anywhere and everywhere all at once.
When the last of the Styphoni had fled the clearing across the bank and were over the brow, Hestophes gave the signal to recall his troops. Most returned except the Agrysi cavalry who were too busy riding down and killing the routing Styphoni, who were now in full retreat. Good, maybe some of the troopers will chase them all the way back to Hostigos Town and be captured, living proof of our allies from Hos-Agrys. That will give Soton something to gnaw on besides his pipe stem.
II
General Tythos had watched his superior, Captain-General Anaphon, get shot out of his saddle and tumble into the river with a sense of relief. He was only sorry it hadn’t happened half a candle before, when there was still time to change command before Anaphon’s attack turned into a complete disaster. The Styphon’s Own Fool had led them into an ambush and instead of retreating and taking stock of the situation, Anaphon had ridden right into the thick of it.
Well, we’re better off that he’s gone to Hadrons realm; there’s no room in Galzar’s Hall for even well-intentioned idiots! Unfortunately, Tythos was not in a position to take command himself, as he was caught up in the movement of horses across the stream.
On the other side of the creek, he pulled his horse up and cried, “Halt!” His own bodyguards were lost in the moving stream of cavalry rushing toward inevitable disaster. He shot his pistol in the air and waved his sword, but no one listened, they were too eager to avenge their comrades and pursue the fleeing Hostigi. Am I the only one who senses a trap here?
If I don’t move forward, I’ll be seen as a coward; if I do, I’ll get caught up in this mass of man and horseflesh and die with the rest of them! What would Great King Lysandros do in this situation ? He would live to fight another day.
Tythos allowed his horse to run into the forest, acting as though he were pursuing a Hostigi musketeer. He waited until most of the cavalry had followed the Hostigi, turned and went back across the dammed-up stream toward the rear guard--well, he hoped there still was a rear guard, or they were all in trouble.
He saw some laggards in a small clearing and raised his own lance-pennon to get their attention. They reluctantly joined him at first, until they saw he was headed in the opposite direction of the growing battle noise. By the time he reached the other side of the small wooded area, he was followed by almost fifty troopers. They were quickly greeted by about a hundred stragglers--all probable deserters.
“Where’s the rear guard?” he asked one Captain with a scraggly mustache.
He said, “They went in there,” indicating they had followed the others across the ford.
Tythos quickly sorted out his steadiest troopers and put them in the rear with orders to shoot anyone who tried to desert.
“Men, we are going to wait here for our comrades to chase the Hostigi into our trap.” It didn’t appear that many of them believed him, but this was for other ears--not theirs, anyway. “The Harphaxi Royal Pistoleers will shoot any man jack of you who decides to desert our reserve! Is this understood?”
There was a dispirited chorus of “yes, sir,” but with enough oomph that he felt he could turn his back without the whole troop melting away. “Now, load your pistols and prepare for a counterattack!”
Three of his personal bodyguard, including his banner-bearer, pushed their way out of the woods, making overly loud sighs of relief when they spotted him. “Your Grace, we feared for the worst!”
“Does anyone know what’s happening?”
“No, Your Grace, we heard Hadron’s Own Noise an eighth of a candle ago and decided to look for Your Grace.”
Suddenly horses, some with men and some unmanned, rode out of the woods. He ordered the arquebusiers to cock their smoothbores and raised his sword. The first tangle came to a quick halt, one soldier, crying out: “It’s a trap! The entire Hostigi army and their Agrysi allies were in wait behind the forest. Everyone’s dead!”
The other seven or eight troopers nodded their agreement. One crying out, “I saw the Daemon Kalvan’s banner!”
Tythos highly doubted the Great King himself was leading a rear guard action, but if the Agrysi dominated League of Dralm were involved, they were in trouble.
Moments later about eighty to a hundred disordered Harphaxi cavalry burst into the clearing, crying, “Get out of our way! It’s the League of Dralm!”
Tythos lowered his sword and they quickly passed through his makeshift line of defenders.
“General, sir, let’s get out of here,” cried the petty-captain. “We’re too few to stop the Agrysi! Why die as martyrs when we can live to kill Hostigi again?”
He noted, as about half his command began to slip away, that the man had a most persuasive argument. Suddenly what appeared to be all the survivors of the Harphaxi army of pursuit were streaming out of the woods in complete disarray.
Tythos didn’t wait to see who or what was chasing them, but re-sheathed his sword, turned his horse and spurred him into a gallop. Any man of the “reserve” too stupid to follow his example deserved to be speared by one of the traitorous Agrysi lancers!
THREE
As Grand Master Soton and his guard rode over the Darro Creek .by way of the Priest’s Crossing, he wondered why Great King Lysandros had requested another meeting so soon at the palace. Taking possession of Prince Ptosphes’ former summer palace had meant ta
king it away from Roxthar who had been using it as the staging ground for the Investigation of Heretics. While this had made Lysandros friends from the many who had reason to see the Holy Butcher embarrassed, it had also bought the Archpriest’s enmity. Fortunately for Lysandros he was only one of an army of people Roxthar had reason to despise and, for now, the Great King was out of the Investigation’s reach. Not even Roxthar would dare thwart the will of the entire Inner Circle.
Since Roxthar had sequestered the palace before the siege of Tarr-Hostigos, it was still unscathed from both fire and looting. The golden eagle that reared above the large fountain might be pocked with bullet holes but it was still intact. A score of Lysandros’ bodyguard in full red and yellow livery, silvered armor and halberds attested to his efforts to keep it that way. The Royal Bank of Hostigos across the square had not fared so well; the top two stories were gone and building appeared to have suffered serious fire damage, almost as if one of Kalvan’s shells had detonated inside.
Soton wondered if rumors were true that Lysandros planned to rename the conquered princedom of Hostigos in his own name. It wouldn’t be the first time in Five Kingdom’s history that a Great King had dubbed an unruly princedom after himself--Syriphlon and Argros came quickly to mind--and usually he would have counseled against it. However, in this case there weren’t enough conquered subjects left to fill the town square and no Hostigi subjects left to antagonize with such kingly arrogance.
Lysandros, before leaving Harphax City, had named the Hostigi traitor, Baron Sthentros, Prince of the newly reconquered Hostigos. This move indicated that either Lysandros didn’t have any other retainers he trusted with the new princedom--there were a lot of empty princely crowns upon the conquest of Hos-Hostigos--or that he was so smitten with Sthentros’ daughter that his wits were addled by love. The latter Soton had a hard time believing; he doubted Lysandros had loved anyone other than himself since he was weaned from his wet-nurse’s teat.
Lysandros’ Chancellor was waiting at the door and quickly escorted him, less his own guard, to the Great King’s private audience chamber. Lysandros quickly rose from his chair to embrace him, which took Soton by surprise. The two of them had never been close and he wondered if this was an attempt by Lysandros to place a wedge between himself and Grand Captain-General Phidestros. Is Lysandros worried that Phidestros might attempt a palace coup? Right now he has the political capital to do it.
After Lysandros’ embrace, the Chancellor provided him a chair and he sat down. The moment everyone had left, the Great King sighed. “I’m surrounded by lackeys and lickspittles. I need to talk with someone I can trust.”
Soton almost reeled back in his chair. If the Great King considers me his closest advisor, then he truly has no friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the ambitious king; he just had no feelings at all for him--the same way he felt about Archpriest Anaxthenes. He didn’t trust either one; both men had ice water in their veins and an ambition that knew no bounds. Both men were also known to poison anyone who got in their way--Lysandros was a regicide for Styphon’s sake, having poisoned his brother King Kaiphranos.
“I’m flattered that you view me with such trust, Your Majesty,” was the most honest phrase that came to mind.
“We are both warriors in the service of Styphon,” Lysandros said, with almost enough conviction that he almost believed him, but not quite.
“Is it a problem of a spiritual nature that troubles you? If it is, I’m probably not the right person to help you.”
“No. My problems are of this world. I just received a dispatch informing me that that barrel of pork who calls himself Great King Demistophon has invaded my kingdom!”
That was the first Soton had heard word of problems along the Hos-Harphax/Hos-Agrys border. But he wasn’t surprised, as the two kingdoms had been feuding for centuries over ownership of Thaphigos, a border princedom between the two realms. It had recently changed ruling families at the expense of the Agrysi faction. As shortsighted as the porcine beasts he resembled, it wasn’t out of character for Demistophon to take advantage of Lysandros’ absence and launch an attack.
“A large number of Agrysi troops, disguised as freebooters, have crossed over the border into Thaphigos and are now ravaging the countryside. There are not enough troops at Tarr-Harphax to protect the City, much less stop this Agrysi aggression. Are any of Styphon’s Own Guard in a position to support my claimant?”
Soton shook his head. There might be two or three temple bands between Agrys City and Harphax City, but they were garrison troops and their job was to protect Styphon’s Temples, not pull a roast out of the fire for shortsighted allies.
“Grand Master, I do not want to be forced to remove the Harphaxi Army out of the false kingdom of Hos-Hostigos, as long as the Usurper and Traitor Kalvan is still alive. However, I do not see that I have a choice, unless I dispatch Captain-General Phidestros back to Thaphigos to take care of the problem.”
The dissolution of the Grand Host, after the conquest of Hostigos, had been Soton’s biggest worry; if he didn’t act decisively, it would soon become fact. Already, the Sacred Squares were claiming victory and Prince Anaxon--temporary High Marshal, since all the other Ktemnoi commanders of higher rank were dead or wounded--had already expressed a desire to return to Hos-Ktemnos. If either the Harphaxi contingent or the Ktemnoi forces left the Grand Host, it would become the Hollow Host and might even inspire a Hostigi counterattack.
“The Host must remain intact until the Usurper is killed; otherwise, this great victory of ours will be squandered. Already, several mercenary units have deserted. But none since Marshal Albides put Styphon’s Own Guard to watch the major roads out of Hostigos.”
Lysandros nodded in agreement.
Soton continued, “If it were possible, with your reputation as a great military leader, I would make you Grand Captain-General of the Grand Host and dispatch Captain-General Phidestros back to Thaphigos to end this insurrection.” It took all Soton had to keep from retching. With all this diplomacy, he was beginning to sound like Archpriest Anaxthenes with his interminable machinations.
“Then what can I do?” Lysandros asked. “Duke Kaphros, who is reigning in my absence in Harphax City, is a good administrator but he is no military man. All my best captains are in Hostigos where they are needed. Duke Aesthes, who is in nominal command of my militia, is not fit to ride a horse these days . . . Not that I would allow him.” He barked a harsh laugh. “The incompetent fool has already lost one Harphaxi Army fighting Kalvan; only an idiot--like my dear departed brother--would give him a second opportunity.”
Soton had to stifle a laugh. Truer words were never spoken. “Maybe it is time for Your Majesty to return to Hos-Harphax and deal with the Thaphigos incident in person.”
Lysandros rose up out of his chair. “I cannot leave the Host. If I return to Harphax, my soldiers will learn that I am under the Ban of Galzar--what kind of army will I lead then? My princely levy will desert and return to their farms. My Royal Lancers may remain if I promise them enough gold upon the conclusion of the Thaphigos campaign, but my Royal Pistoleers are more faithful to the Wargod and his priests. They will leak away like water through an old barn roof. I will not be able to hire any free companies, even if there are any mercenaries left in the Kingdom not under some princely banner. What would you have me do?”
It’s even worse than you think., Soton thought. The Ban may yet destroy us all. The Highpriests of Galzar had put the Grand Host under the Ban of Galzar with a list of all known Harphaxi and Ktemnoi dukes and barons. Fortunately, they had not named Prince Phidestros, who remained the only major Harphaxi ruler not under the Ban. “But for the Ban of Galzar, I would suggest sending Phidestros and his Iron Band to remedy the Thaphigos invasion; however, we would then lose the services of most of our mercenaries who are oath-sworn personally to the Captain-General. This we cannot allow.”
“No. I see the wisdom in your words, although I despise the imbecilic priests who arriv
ed at such a blundering decision,” Lysandros said through clenched teeth.
Soton was glad there was no one around to overhear Lysandros’ condemnation of Galzar’s priesthood. Styphon’s Own folly would be the result, along with the quick dismembering of the Grand Host. Lysandros might hold the Wargod in disdain, but his common soldiers most emphatically did not. The priests of Galzar did more than set rules and regulations for battles and warfare; they were the healers and caretakers of the battlefield sick and wounded. In addition, all their members were retired military men who had far more in common with their laity than their own commanders did.
“Now, think harder, Grand Master. How long will it be before Phidestros is under the Ban? After all, he too is part of the Grand Host.”
Soton shrugged his shoulders. “I had hoped we would be in Ulthor by now and that Galzar’s messengers would not catch up to us until after we brought the Hostigi to a final battle. However, the delay in taking Tarr-Hostigos”--he paused to glare at Lysandros since the lengthy siege was at his insistence--”has allowed events to get ahead of us. I have special patrols waiting for any visitors from Hos-Agrys.”
“But will they stop the Wargod’s priests?”
“These men will. Most are oath-brothers who believe in no gods but their own Ruthani ones. They will do whatever I order.”
“It is good to have such men, but can they guarantee that no priests or other outsiders will slip into our midst?”
Soton shook his head sadly. “No, only the gods can make such promises. My men can only do their best.”
“Then, you must admit that once the priests of Galzar place Captain-General Phidestros under the Ban, we may lose the services of all our mercenaries.”
Soton cringed. I do not want to admit any such thing, even if it is true. The loss of over twenty-eight thousand mercenaries, including the Iron Band itself, would be a hard blow to accept. If dismissed, he doubted that Phidestros would consent to leaving his Beshtan Army behind, since the majority of them still fought under the Prince’s Iron Band banner--even upon King Lysandros’ direct order. “Reluctantly, I will admit that your words hold much truth.”